


A Minor Oversight

by NiennaTru



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e15 Booked Solid, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiennaTru/pseuds/NiennaTru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harold had only a brief moment to process what was happening before the phone line went dead. Frozen in mid-step, he realized with dawning horror that John was yet again in danger.” Missing moment from S2E15 “Booked Solid.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Minor Oversight

Harold had only a brief moment to process what was happening before the phone line went dead. Frozen in mid-step, he realized with dawning horror that John was yet again in danger. His employee had called in order to inform Finch that the disc had been located and that they should meet back at the library. It had been then that Harold heard the ominous words filter over the line.

“You’re a hard man to find…” 

If, as he suspected, the man he’d heard over the line was the government agent who had been tracking John since Rikers’ Island, the situation was dire indeed. Realizing that he’d been standing motionless since the connection was broken, Harold forced himself to move. Allowing panic to take over wasn’t going to help John. Mentally shaking himself, Finch made his way to the nearest elevator, several plans beginning to form in his mind.

Harold exited the building and crossed the street, using his phone to access the video feeds from the hotel he had hacked into earlier that day. Hoping that they would provide him with more information, he began to scan through the images, but after several agonizing minutes, he had yet to see any sign of his partner anywhere in the footage. Frustration and anxiety were building to a fever pitch within him. Taking a breath, he looked up from the screen, considering his options. The NYPD was starting to arrive, swarming the area and drawing many onlookers to the chaotic scene. Harold loathed the idea of leaving the hotel and returning to the library, but with each passing minute, it seemed the best way to locate and help Mr. Reese. 

Pulling up the contact list in his phone, Harold scrolled through the names in order to call one of his drivers. He was about to dial when movement from the west side of the building caught his eye. Exiting the hotel from one of the “Staff Only” doors was his employee. Relief flooded him and left him feeling slightly shaky. He noted that John seemed to be walking more slowly than usual and that he looked more than a little disheveled, but other than that the younger man seemed to be fine. Harold made a deliberate effort to unclench his jaw and took a deep breath. He pocketed his phone as he watched his partner’s approach. 

“I trust you’re alright, Mr. Reese?” Finch asked, reaching for an even tone with some difficulty.

John nodded and then winced, rubbing his forehead absently as he spoke. “I’m okay, Finch.” He dropped his hand to his side and looked apologetically at his employer. “I will need a new phone again, though. What is that, the third one this week?” 

Finch raised an eyebrow at the subject change and the characteristic evasiveness of his employee. John was quite obviously in pain, and obstinately refusing to admit it. It never ceased to amaze him—or perhaps ‘horrify’ was the better word—how remarkably unconcerned John seemed to be regarding his own health and safety. Deciding to drop the issue of John’s physical and emotional well-being for the moment, Harold changed the subject. “I gathered as much about the phone when our connection was lost. What happened exactly?”

“I had a little run-in with our ‘friend’ from Washington. He wanted to know who I was working for, and then tried to kill me when I wouldn’t tell him.” John’s tone was flat and emotionless. He watched the proceedings across the street as he spoke. “I convinced him that continuing to follow me was not in his best interest, and, given that he didn’t follow me out of the hotel, I’d say he agreed.”

Harold said nothing. John was maintaining a somewhat offhand attitude as he related his story, but Finch was aware that his partner was only doing so in order to minimize the severity of the situation from which he had just extricated himself. Harold appreciated that Mr. Reese was trying to be considerate, though he also thought the kindness of the gesture was undeserved. The heady feeling of relief from earlier was now giving way to guilt. 

Harold knew that the only way he could truly help John, the only way he could in some small way make up for the pain he had caused the other man, was to continue the endeavor Nathan had begun. John needed to help people, he needed a purpose, and Harold could provide that for him. But there was no doubt in Harold’s mind that this undertaking was essentially a suicide mission, and, as he had once told John, one day one or both of them would wind up dead. The very thing that was keeping John alive was also the thing that would very likely kill him. Harold had made the decision to include John in this operation and had fully committed to that decision long ago, but the implications, the consequences continued to haunt him. 

Pushing his dark thoughts aside, Finch looked up at his friend. “Are you really alright, John?” He couldn’t help but ask again.

Something in Finch’s voice caused John to meet Harold’s eyes once again. He smiled, trying to reassure the older man. “Don’t worry, Harold. I’m fine, really.”

Harold decided to push. “I hardly think that you and our ‘friend’ from Washington had a civil conversation over tea, Mr. Reese,” he remarked with more than a little sarcasm. “And the fact that you were wincing in pain earlier tells me that you’ve taken another hit to that rather hard head of yours.” 

John looked surprised and amused by the outburst. “I didn’t think of offering him tea, Harold. Maybe that would have worked?” He looked down at his employer as if he were seriously considering the idea.

“That’s very amusing, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, and sighed. “Do you need a doctor?”

Knowing Harold wasn’t going to let it go, John relented. “No, but I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to some ibuprofen right about now,” he admitted.

Harold huffed out a breath and shook his head, feeling an odd mixture of annoyance and relief at John’s behavior. He’d noticed the shadowed eyes and more guarded attitude the younger man had adopted following his release from prison and the subsequent events with Kara Stanton and the bomb vest; and though he knew this was not an unexpected response to those traumatic events, Harold had nonetheless been worried, unsure how to help his friend. 

“I think that can be arranged,” Harold replied, though inwardly he thought that John would benefit from far more than just some ibuprofen. Up close his friend looked exhausted. Harold mentally sorted through several possibilities. Perhaps he could convince John to stay in the hotel’s penthouse suite and make use of its amenities. The younger man could certainly do with a little rest and relaxation. He briefly wondered if Ms. Morgan would be returning to the hotel tomorrow in order to wrap up her own affairs. Harold was confident that if anyone could convince John to relax a little it was she. Maybe a ‘chance’ meeting in the hotel bar would work…

Across the street a commotion caused both men to turn. The crowd of police gathered at the door of the hotel was now parting in order to make way for two uniforms escorting a handcuffed Derek Fowler out of the building. Though he strained to hear, Harold could only make out fragmented words between the floor manager’s sobs: apparently Fowler was confessing to his many crimes. The two police officers looked embarrassed at the display, but Finch found the situation very satisfying. He was about to turn to John and say so when he got a better look at Fowler’s face and his eyes widened in surprise. 

“That’s a rather impressive black eye Mr. Fowler is sporting.” 

John met Harold’s questioning gaze, looking decidedly unapologetic. “It is, isn’t it?”

Harold struggled to look somewhat disapproving. “What happened exactly?”

John gestured dismissively. “He caught me getting the disc out of Mira’s locker and asked me what I would do if I were him, and had found a first-day employee snooping around the women’s locker room.”

“And so you hit him?” 

“Well, he did ask what I would do if I were in his place,” John supplied, as if the answer should have been obvious. 

“Really, Mr. Reese,” Harold scolded, though there was no real censure in his voice. Both men watched as the police cruiser pulled away from the curb, Fowler still sobbing in the back seat. 

“Shall we go?” Harold asked. 

John nodded. “Sure, Harold.” 

The two men turned and began to walk up the street. It was a surprisingly mild night, and Harold was enjoying the fresh air after a long day indoors, though he realized that they would need to get back to the library soon in order to take Bear out for his own walk. The poor canine had been in the library alone all day, and though he had plenty of food and water, puppy pads, and various toys to keep him somewhat occupied, it was not the ideal arrangement. He thought that perhaps they should employ a dog-sitter in the future, his mind wandering to Mr. Tao. Maybe having the responsibility of taking care of a dog would keep him out of trouble and stop his number from coming up so often.

“The Coronet is going to need a new manager,” John ventured into the silence. 

Harold dragged his thoughts back to the present and then gave his partner a knowing look. “I think Ms. Dobrica is uniquely qualified for the position, don’t you?” 

John smirked and shook his head. “I should have known you were way ahead of me, Finch.”

Pleased with himself, Harold shrugged and smiled. He was silent for a moment, thinking. “You do know that there are no security cameras in the hotel’s locker rooms, Mr. Reese, which means that there is no visual record of your punching Mr. Fowler.”

“Yes, I know that Finch,” John replied, frowning in confusion at the apparent non sequitur. “Why?” 

Harold stopped walking and looked up at his employee. “I’m sure it would have been well worth a viewing—or several.” 

John’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Sorry about that, Finch.” 

“A minor oversight, I’m sure, Mr. Reese,” Harold replied. He continued walking, leaving a startled John to follow in his wake.


End file.
